


A Choking Gall

by angelsfamily



Series: Align Our Crossed Stars [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mission: Impossible (Movies), S.W.A.T. (2003), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Bonding, Family Feels, Fellas Is It OOC For Assholes To Have Feelings?, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, I'm just gonna label it as queerplatonic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, and leave it at that, cuz theyre not shipped w anyone else romantically, i guess, nevermind I don't care, platonic clintasha?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsfamily/pseuds/angelsfamily
Summary: NASA found evidence of a parallel Universe in whichtime runs backwards, and I only hope the version of usthat works out exists there somewhere.Maybe we aren't star crossed.Maybe we have the potential to align.
Relationships: Brian Gamble/Jim Street, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Eric Byer/Aaron Cross, Minor or Background Relationship(s), William Brandt & Clint Barton & Aaron Cross & Brian Gamble, William Brandt & Eric Byer, William Brandt/Ethan Hunt
Series: Align Our Crossed Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026352
Kudos: 3





	1. 0

**Author's Note:**

> Summary Cred.:@zanefrederickwrites on tiktok  
> Comments and discussions are welcomed!

Sometimes, you look back on parts of your life and realize, "damn, that is _not_ normal." For example, not everyone becomes a wanted criminal after they quit their jobs, and certainly not all of them can go back to where they started and live like nothing had happened. Brian Gamble likes to think that maybe it's just LA, but who knows.

After all he'd been through, he really can't care less about, well, everything--almost. To think that faking his death would be the wildest thing he lived through--oh boy was he _so_ wrong. But he thinks himself lucky. Lucky to settle back into a place that holds so many precious memories; lucky to have the brilliant, strong, and loving men he calls family to hold onto during and after the quite literal end of the world. The thought of his brothers and boyfriend makes him smile, dim yellow light bouncing off his eyelashes. Life is getting better by the day.

The bar is packed with young people celebrating their 21st (although some are not unfamiliar faces) and Brian scans the room for creeps trying to take advantage of the half-drunk kids, just in case. It's not like everybody around the block knows that Brian Gamble can and will deck anybody out if they tried something funny in his bar.

Jim, his old partner, would be home resting right now, exhausted and knowing that tomorrow will be another long-ass shift, but he will be smiling half-asleep at Brian when he gets home and they will spend some quality time together, even if it's just cuddling and nothing else. Brian lets his thoughts drift as he leans on the counter, and that is when he spots a hooded figure with a familiar shape sitting in a corner.

Brian's heart drops and his smile fades, but unable to make out the reason. He slowly makes his way towards the man and asks for his order, only for the man to look up with a pair of gray eyes not dissimilar to his own. Brian feels his breath catch as his hands start shaking. His nose burns and his lashes feel wet, but he’s smiling.

That's his brother. His brother Kenneth James, now known as former CIA Black-Ops agent Aaron Cross.

And he's come back home.

💫

_Several months ago..._

Eric Byer almost flung his pen into the air when the burning argument right outside of his office sent James Rhodes slamming open the door and saundering in. Without giving Byer time to express himself in his usual passive-aggressive manner, Rhodes slammed the door shut again. Eric put down the papers and sat upright; at this point, all he could do was rub at his temple and sigh.

"I thought the CIA black-ops were cleaned up." Rhodes leaned over Eric's desk and said. "I thought there were no black-op agents left--hell, I thought LARX wasn't even _real_."

Taking Rhodes' scoff with a twitch of his eyebrows, Eric took a deep breath and prepared for the hailstorm that was about to come. "Get to the point, James. What is it now?"

Rhodes shook his head and began pacing around the room. Turns out a LARX agent had gone rogue. _A LARX agent_ , as if not enough bullshit happened in these past few years. First a global nuclear crisis, then the Blip, then the invention of fucking _time travel_ , followed by the Avengers almost crumbling when its the Iron Man tip-toed on the verge of life and death.

And now this.

It's not that Eric didn't know what James went through since before the Avengers even started, but he hadn’t lived an easy life, either... And now the both of them must put all of those behind them and help stop yet another international terrorist. Rhodes was still dumping information on the IMF-led mission in capturing LARX-4--how it was completely unfathomable that a LARX subject would lose their loyalty and how dense the south Asian population is, making it easier for the subject to--

Eric's ever brilliant and collected brain short circuited like an old warehouse having all its lights shut down. There is nothing in the cold emptiness but a dim echo bouncing off the walls.

 _South Asia. LARX. Painful and_ fucking gruesome _deaths._

_AARON._

Eric did not even wait for Rhodes to finish the request for his collaboration. He kicked away from his desk, grabbed only a thin suit jacket and made towards the garage; Rhodes froze for a brief second and then caught up with him.

💫

"I hope you're on the other side,

talking to me too.

Oh, am I a fool

who sits alone,

talking to the moon.

I know you're somewhere out there,

somewhere far away..."

Well apparently not far enough. Eric jammed the mute button on the car's radio, reducing the vehicle into silence. The leather seats smelled like a cheap rental's; like business and politics, numbing and distant. Rhodes sat in shotgun and kept glancing at Eric, not frustrated but rather concerned. Eric took a second to glare back, and Rhodes put his hands up.

"Hey, man, you know i'm just a bit scared of you right now," he said, trying and failing to slip in a chuckle. "The last time I saw that face, we were deployed and your fiancee was getting remarried to that dickhead ‘round your corner."

That seemed to do more harm than good to the general atmosphere, seeing that Eric frowned and pursed his lips. He eventually huffed after a long pause. "Bullshit. You're never scared of jack."

"Well, a murderous robot army _is_ pretty close to scary."

Eric snorts, and that was the last sound either of them made on the trip to IMF's HQ.

So the legendary Ethan Hunt _did_ live up to his reputation. With a little bit of helping and forced improvising, the situation was pretty much under control. The directing team, so full of young blood, was yet to calm down from the last sequence of heart-stopping stunts that the team eventually managed to pull off. Discourse about their valiant chief analyst broke out in the control room, along with cheers for the extraordinary luck that is the team just so happened to recruit an ex-CIA agent--who turned out to be a total badass--before the subject could. Talks of marvel and admiration filled the room, suffocating the quiet Colonel in the back office. As Rhodey waxed poetic about both the IMF’s (and the Avengers') world-saving skills, Eric Byer loosened the grip around his throat that was his tie and slipped out of the room like some coward deserter.

💫

William Brandt was pissed off--at anything and everything. Whenever he goes back into the field with Ethan, they end up yelling red-faced at each other with their teammates dramatically distracting themselves. Those were always expected. But getting his family dragged into this? Will hadn't stopped taking deep breaths in about five minutes now, pulling himself back from uncontrollable breakdowns once and again. Benji even took a hint, for once in his life, and began to draft his own report for the first time in forever. 

William Brandt had learned that shitty situations tend to get shittier and he’d wished--hell, prayed--that for once that won’t apply to his dear brother, who had been through too many of them and fought with teeth and claws to get away. “Our pasts will always come back to haunt us,” Clint would say, and as much as Will tries to ignore it, he knew that it was true. He exhaled once more and started to draft up a plan to help Aaron get back on track in his life--as “on track” as possible, at least--despite already shaking from exhaustion.

That was when Ethan, clothes changed and wounds dressed, pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. That was when William realized the very reason he joined Ethan on missions at the start. 

The brunet still looked slightly disheveled from an adrenaline rush, a few strands of hair came loose and dangled from his temple, his cheeks red, wiped clean of blood and dirt. Will couldn’t see a trace of bandaging under his thin button-up or loose khaki shorts, only some bruising here and there. Those were going to look ten times worse a few days later, Will noted, but with him in the field Ethan is so much more careful not to pull unnecessarily reckless moves and even takes care of his injuries more seriously. 

Will shifted his gaze upwards and found himself relaxed without a thought. Ethan was looking at him with an expression so soft and affectionate that he can forget all the tedious aftermaths of missions and just revel in the fact that he gets to live another day with this impossibly amazing man in front of him.

It was only as Ethan took one of his hands and wiped away the sweat stain on his cheek with the other did Will notice himself mirroring that smile. He leaned into the touch and huffed out a genuine laugh of happiness. Nevermind all the work he has to do after today. If Ethan Hunt can finish a mission with minor injuries with William Brandt next to him, William Brandt can power through all the paperwork there is with Ethan Hunt by his side.

💫

The sizable condo muffled the sound of today’s news on the other side of the apartment. An unstable dormant volcano in the local area had erupted, toxic gas covered the ancient mountain and blanketed the sky. Fortunately, shockwaves from the preceding small earthquake alarmed many residents and the mayor called for immediate evacuation, not a single person had died or was severely injured. In the room across from the TV, a brunette and a dirty-blond haired man sit together on the bed, the man obviously nervous and wouldn't stop fidgeting with his fingers. 

Aaron was not used to nearly dying, but he’s starting to think that he can try. His brother and Marta are going to give him hell for charging back into the melting building for that little janitor but he doesn’t care. 

It was worth it. The boy could not have exceeded 19 years old and clearly has a passion for environmental research. His existence is too real for Aaron to turn his head and walk away from. He was so similar to the auburn-haired, hazel-eyed doctor… He was so… alive. His heart was beating faster than when he held his sniper rifle at the two wrestling men at the edge of a balcony overlooking the boiling spring, highly reactive vials of alien substance travelling between indistinguishable hands and feet. No, no. His head is humming so loud he could barely hear his heartbeats. This wasn’t supposed to be happening to his enhanced body, and yet, this was the second instance in four short days. 

He should have known this--should have seen this coming the moment his past walked through the door and offered him to join it or die, the moment he realized that he was doomed after turning down that offer, that he never escaped the old life, that he was singing Bourne’s reprise. Aaron felt a fear that he hadn't felt since he last saw his handler’s face in Somalia. 

He was more scared now than a half hour ago when he pushed that boy out of the falling building as he tripped on a rebar and was almost crushed by the ceiling. 

He had a sense of purpose then. Save the boy. Save this one boy. But this heroic-looking act was not nearly enough to redeem him. The deathly dread and confusion rendering him helpless and hopeless. Once again he was Kenny James, drifting aimlessly through a crowd of unfamiliar faces.

"It's all over now, Aaron," a woman’s tender voice, shaky yet firm, pulled him back to the present. Marta rubbed Aaron's back and shoulders, tilting her head to confirm the statement by locking their eyes. Aaron blinked and nodded heavily. _She needs me to get through the rest._ His mind was clear and with an objective once again. He sighed into his hands, focusing on the affection embedded when Marta ruffled his hair.

"Get some rest," she adds, pressing a kiss where her hand was.

"You too, doc," came the reply.


	2. Mizpah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mizpah  
> (n.) The deep emotional bond between people, especially those separated by distance or death.

“Holy fuck,” Brian whispers under his breath, only to repeat himself, just slightly louder. “Holy fuck—Ken?” Then, realizing his mistake, “It’s...Aaron now, right? Yeah, yeah, sorry. I just—” he takes a long, shaky breath and combes through his own hair “—I’m just… surprised, you know?”

Aaron removes his hood and smiles a shallow smile. “Yeah,” he chuckles, “I’d be surprised too.”

“Wel-what’re you doin’ here?” Brian, still flustered, asks, “I thought you were… off coast, and shit… living the life.”

“Yeah, well, I certainly hoped so,” Aaron shrugs, instead focuses on Brian pouring him a pint of beer. “Just couldn’t settle, y’know?”

“Yeah. I do.” The younger man agrees, looking slightly dazed-off. He gently sets the pint down and nods with a sigh, “It’s hard…”

Aaron had heard of his little brother’s adventure through death from Will, and right now, seeing the young man with lashes lowered and noticeably grown so much since they last saw each other, he all of a sudden gets a lump of bittersweetness in the back of his throat. He knows that very soon, if not already, he will go through the same as Bri did, struggling to find an anchor point and make peace with his past, but at least he will have a friend he so loves to support him along. Aaron cocks an eyebrow and puts his hands up. “Hey, can’t I just come back because I missed you? My family?” He says, in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

Brian cracks up upon hearing his brother speak. “You are still the same person, I swear.” He wipes his hands on his apron and finds the clock on the wall. 2 a.m. on a Fri— nope, Saturday…  _ Someone _ ’s week off starts tomorrow night. Brian can’t help but let his lips curl into a smile. “Anyhoo, my shift’s about to end in a minute. Stop by my place? Stay for a while, maybe?”

Aaron nods, sees Brian flash him a bright grin and responds with one of his own. “Got nowhere else to be—” he mutters, sipping his beer “—or go.”

💫

The two brothers. practically twins, walk down the roads of midnight Los Angeles without a word spoken.

“So. Jimmy, huh,” Aaron eventually says, breaking the silence awkwardly.

“Is that the first thing you’re gonna ask me?” Brian barks out a laugh and skips around to look the older man in the face. “Jesus Christ, K-Aaron—” he wipes a hand down his face in frustration “—still gotta match the name to the face...” 

Aaron waves his hand and signals that it’s fine. Silence fell once more.

“...So?”

“—aw,  _ God _ —”

“Is he treating you right? ‘Cause I heard from Will that he—”

Brian looks to the sky and groans. “Look, it’s all good now, alright?” he gestures around and counts on his fingers as he goes down on an itemized list, “I’m not dead. I came back. I’m happy with him, and he’s happy with me.” He drops his shoulders and reverts to a serious tone, surprising to come from a wildcat of a person, “It’s all good for us now, really.” 

Aaron nods, thoughtful, taking in the information carefully, a calculated spy evaluating the convincingness of statements from an unreliable source.

Brian exhales helplessly; it looks like there’s no speedy way of convincing his brother that he’s making quality life decisions at this point (who is though, really?). He looks down on the pavement then up at the streetlights, taking in the cool air of an early summer’s night.

“This road we’re walking?” he begins again, “Jimmy and I used to walk to that exact same bar I’m working at for drinks and parties when we were at the academy. When he’s not working—and I’m not working—we still take walks ‘round these blocks.” When he finishes recounting, a faint smile’s already worked its way up his face. “It’s never gon’ be boring, when I’m with him.” Brian turns to his brother, and is indefinitely satisfied to see the latter donning a more convinced look.

“That’s nice,”  Aaron says with an affirming smile, giving his younger sibling a pat on the back.  “That’s good.”

💫

The two boys joke and jab on their way to Bri’s house, and soon enough they reach their destination. Brian jogs ahead and skips up the stairs to the door, Aaron trailing behind him, smiling amusedly. Brian lets out a small whistle as they step through the threshold.

“Somebody’s home early today,” he whispers to himself. Not waiting for Aaron to fully take off his shoes, Brian grabs him by the wrist and drags him towards the inner rooms. “Jimmy!” He calls out on the top of his lungs, making Aaron flinch a little. “Jimbo! I’m home!”

“Aww.” Aaron pokes at him, earning himself an eye roll.

Walking out to the doorway at Brian’s call is a much taller man with thick eyebrows and dark hair, looking as if he’d just woke up from sleep.

“Heya, handsome!” He manages, voice lazy but oddly comforting, “How was wor—”

“I’d say better than expected—Good, uh, morning,” Brian looses his iron grip on Aaron’s wrist and goes towards his boyfriend for a short kiss. Then, turning back to his brother, “You remember Kenny.” He massages the brunet’s shoulder with one hand and leans against his ear, like a teenager planning a wicked prank on his friend. “His name’s Aaron now. Call him Aaron and you’ll probably be fine.”

He slips into the bedroom without waiting for a verbal reaction, leaving the two men standing awkwardly in the middle of the house.

“Uh, hi…” Jim attempts. Aaron throws his head back in a laugh.

“Oh, save that shit for strangers,” he says, stepping forward and hugging his old playmate tight. “You grew tall.”

Jim smiles and hugs him back. “And you, uh…”

“Grew smarter? More coherent? Yeah,” Aaron shrugs and leans out of the embrace, “I did.” He looks around at the roomy space, hands on his hips and nodding approvingly. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.” Jim scratches the back of his neck. “Bri and I did some renovation ourselves. A lot of things are second-hand but, you know, we’re pretty happy with it.”

“Some topic you’re going off on.” Brian jests as he walks back out from the bedroom, already changed into pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. “He showed you the couch yet? You can crash there—we don’t usually have guests come over,” he cocks his head towards the couch in the living room, “could fit three whole people on it. We bought it for movie nights.”

“Movie nights,” Aaron eyes the couple meaningfully; Jim avoids his gaze. “Pretty neat.”

💫

Aaron lies on the couch fully clothed. LA may be hot as a frying pan during the day but the temperature drop is not to be ignored. All he has is a blanket that looks like a rug laid on top of a folded bed sheet, and a coat he found in a corner of the living room to cover his feet, since the former two pieces of fabrics aren’t remotely long enough.

He curls himself up for warmth, memory of the distant past flowing into mind. A thin couch in front of a TV, blinders drawn for the night. A man’s hands covering him in a warm, soft throw that smelled like laundry detergent, with a faint hint of the man’s cologne. 

He reminiscents in the moment of comfort, not thinking too deep about the scar those memories represent. Right now everything smells like dirt and sand and Brian’s sweat. Aaron hugs the covers closer to himself despite it. They’ll have to do for now.

A loud noise jumps Aaron’s nerves and snaps awake, only to hear another similar sound, this time slightly muffled, accompanied by low whispers and giggles. 

Aaron freezes.

Brian Gamble, you undeserving, intolerable little Christmas-wrapped avocado.

He screws his eyes shut and growls into the covers. The little twat is  _ fucking _ on the very day he reunites with his long-lost brother—and does he even realize how thin the walls are?

Aaron Cross does not have time to lament over the ungrateful fuck he calls a brother when he hears mattress creaking and… and…

Dear  _ Gods _ almighty.

Aaron prepares the worst, expecting to hear a scream so then he can finally go back to sleep, and things proceeded that way—in a sense. There was a scream, yes—accompanied by a long groan, but that was within the prediction—and Aaron did fall asleep eventually, but not before he was forced by his second-nature sharp hearing to pick up snippets of absolute  _ filth _ that the young couple was exchanging between barely-repressed sounds of pleasure.

Aaron Cross cannot  _ wait _ to get away from them in the (hopefully very) near future.

💫

Aaron Cross blinks awake before dawn. Pale light from daybreak leaks through the shutters and luminates the house. Few bird’s chirps and no engine revs, a blissful silence. 

Floorboards creak from behind him and Aaron listens tentatively. 

He registers Jim kissing Bri good morning and goodbye, their voices low and muffled, thick from the early morning. Footsteps then continue towards the utility area and Aaron closes his eyes, faking sleep. He hears Jim opening up cabinets and then the fridge, regular breakfast-making procedure. He opens his eyes a slit and sees Jim leaning on the counter chewing on a sandwich, lost in thought—or just not fully awake yet. Aaron comes up with the malicious idea of greeting the young man unexpectedly, making him choke on his food.

“Yeah, ’morning to you too,” Jim says bitterly after finally regaining his breath, accepting the prank as retaliation for the previous night. “I made three sandwiches,” he says, wiping his hands clean of bread crumbs,. “yYou guys help yourselves whenever.”

“’Preciate it,” Aaron says, happily putting away all the breakfast recipes he originally had in mind.

💫

> Aaron woke up a bit too early one morning, but not before Will and Clint left for work. The house was awfully quiet, just the way he liked it,  and so he assumed from the silence that Brian was still sleeping. He trotted downstairs to the kitchen. There were still ingredients for a quick breakfast on the counter and Aaron suddenly had the idea of cooking for his little brother. In this household it’s usually everybody else who takes care of him long since he could remember going to the doctor’s for the first and only time in his life.  His legs dangled idly from the exam table as the adults carried on a conversation consisted of broken words like “permanent damage” and “retardation”. Little Kenny fidgeted his fingers as he rocked back and forth with frustration; even at such a young age he knew it couldn’t be good—not when momma started crying and daddy stormed out of the room. Aaron picked up a pan and spatula and set them on the stove. _ It won’t be too hard to just make a sandwich, _ he told himself. 
> 
> The scarecrow’s long shadow swept across the field and Brian blinked in the bright sunlight. Kenny couldn’t possibly be up at this hour, right? Entered Brian quietly from the back door, thinking his brother was not yet up, turned around the corner and saw him in the kitchen, eating a piece of cheese bit by bit.
> 
> Spotting his baby brother sneaking in, Aaron tilted his head in confusion, cheese slice falling out of his hand. “You should be still in bed right now,” he says, “what are you doing out here?”
> 
> “You can’t even cook, why are you making breakfast?” Brian retorted. 
> 
> His brother slumped and looked wounded. “I'm just trying... to take care of you,” he justified, “I  _ am  _ your big brother, Bri.”
> 
> Brian conceded with a sigh and settled down into a chair. Aaron, not understanding, took Brian as accepted his sentiment as said and resumed working on breakfast.
> 
> “Hey, Ken,” Brian probed out of the blue, “I can trust you, right?”
> 
> “Yeah,” Aaron looked up from the plates, “You can trust me. And Will. And Clint.”
> 
> “No. No, it’s different. Will and Clint, they're like… substitute mom and dad. You're just… you,” Brian said tiredly. “Anyways, you won't tell anybody else, right? Not your friends, not Will, not Clint?” 
> 
> “I don't have friends other than you and Jimmy,” Aaron said, matter-of-fact, then, realizing it wasn’t the answer Brian wanted, “no. I won't tell Will and Clint. I promise.”
> 
> Brian sighed again and pulled his hair.
> 
> Aaron scrunched up his nose. He hated it when Brian did that. Bri only does that when he’s really really… whatstheword… frustrated? It’s a prelude to a screaming fit, Aaron remembers clearly from when they were young.
> 
> “Come here, Ken. Come sit down.”
> 
> Aaron obliged. He sat facing Brian with his chin propped up, ready to listen.
> 
> “I kissed Jimmy.” Brian said after a lengthy internal struggle, rubbing his brows with the bottoms of his palms, and Aaron said,
> 
> “Congratulations.“
> 
> Brian breathed in deep and slow and set his head onto the table. “No, not like that,” he growled, “it was like... the way you see on TV when a girl and a boy kiss, and all the little kids cover their eyes and say ‘eww’, you know?”
> 
> Aaron's eyes widened. “On-on the mouth?” he asked, voice drenched in fear, “are you gon-gonna get pregnant, Brian?” His brother looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow and wry curl of his lips, but he rambled on. “And-and I always see… the girls always cry after. they’re always sad. Did Jimmy make you cry, Brian? are you-are you sad?”
> 
> Brian could hear the stress from his brother’s raising voice. He chuckled dryly. The fun of being with Ken has always been that he could constantly get something unexpectedly wholesome from him. “No, no…” he mouthed, smiling but shaking his head.
> 
> “Then…then what does that mea—why are you telling me this then?”
> 
> Brian sighed deeply, and when he looked up again, his eyes were decades older than they should be. “We’re still friends, Ken. We’re...even  _ better _ friends now,” Brian had explained to him, but then he said, “you have to keep this a secret, okay? don't tell anyone; not your friends, not Clint, and definitely not Will.”
> 
> Aaron didn’t quite understand why, but he gave Brian his promise, because he is a big brother, and he would make sure that his little Bri was happy. 
> 
> And happy Brian was. A smile lit up his face and his eyes shined like a little boy’s again. It was the promise—the Pinky Promise, KennethAaron told himself. Nobody ever breaks a Pinky Promise. He was brimming with joy that he was trusted so much and that Jimmy is an even better friend to Brian now. Jimmy's not making Brian cry, he's making him smile.
> 
> “You want a sandwich?”
> 
> “...hm—what?” 
> 
> “Do y- do you want a sandwich?” Aaron repeated himself, although hesitantly. “I-I made two—we can share.”
> 
> “Yeah. Yeah that sounds good.” 
> 
> Aaron sees his brother munch on his sandwich and thinks, wouldn't it be nice if he could have his own Jimmy one day, who will be his bestest friend and make him happy like never before.

Jim slips out the door as quietly as possible, for which Aaron is appreciative very much, and he soon drifts back into his dreams for another few hours.

💫

When Aaron wakes for the second time, it is from the main bedroom door creaking open once again, his little brother emerging with a horrible bedhead and yawning in nothing but an underwear. Aaron’s lip twitches as he recalls last night.

“Good morn’, Aar- Hey! Woah!” Brian closely veers from a flying throw pillow, instantly snapping awake. “The fuck was that for?”

“This goddamn house,” Aaron says through gnawing teeth, “with walls made outta fucking cardboard.”

Brian ruffles his hair and chuckles in half-genuine embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“Are you?!”

“...

“Not really.”

Aaron hurls another object at him. It hits the wall behind Brian’s head and falls to the floor. This time it was a stereo remote control. Brian giggles and pads to the kitchen, picks up a sandwich and takes a mouthful, not forgetting to throw his brother one. 

And so at noon they have breakfast—Brian’s breakfast (and his, sure), made by his Jimbo and nobody else. Aaron simultaneously feels a tightness in his chest and a breeze of relief. The next time Aaron looks up from his hands, Brian only has a bite-sized piece left. 

_ Goblin _ , Aaron says in his head. He shoots a dirty look at the younger man, who raises his eyebrows and stuffs the last bit into his mouth as he stares him down. Aaron rolls his eyes and finally starts on his own sandwich.

Brian is swiftly putting on a black shirt and jeans in the meantime, and not five minutes later, he is skipping on his feet and ready-to-go. Typical military fashion. Aaron can do it as well. He just hates it, is all.

“Come on. Finish it up, chop-chop. I’m planning on taking you to the range today.” Brian is clapping and pounding the couch right next to his head. “Opens from eleven to six and my shift starts at 2. We can get a chance with a pistol  _ and _ a rifle if we hurry.”

Aaron makes sure he takes his time to finish the last bites, and Brian slaps him on the back of the head for it. He glares daggers at him, but the little shit is already at the door tying his shoes.

“I said hurry up, asshole,” he yells across the house.

Aaron woundedly peels off his blankets.  _ How in the fucks am I the asshole here? _

💫

“So. You been here often?”

“Well,” Brian says while loading his ammo, “It’s cheap, and I’m good at it.” He turns to Aaron, cocks his gun loud and clear. “Gotta keep the skills sharp somehow.”

“No pressure if you’re lacking.” Aaron chuckles in response and readies himself. “Not a competition or anything.”

When the gunshots cease, all that remains of the x’s on Aaron’s target are broken fibers of paper, two gaping holes on the head and torso. “God- _ damn _ ,” he spits, “what have  _ you _ been doing these days?” Will’s words flow back into his head.  _ Some secret government stuff _ . Pretty impressive.

Aaron hums and looks to Brian’s target. .38 bullets punched holes in the chest, throat, and head areas, not a single one missed. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

A dry laugh. “Not too bad, huh,” he sets the pistol down and begins to bring his target sheet in .  Aaron follows suit.

“Could use a bit of training. If you only ask nicely, I could— probably—”

“Oh fuck you.” Brian rips the paper off, balls it up and throws it at his brother. The older man dodges easily and the paper ball flies into the trash can behind him.

Brian whistles in his little victory and strides towards the exit. “Come on, dipshit. I’m gonna be late.”

“It’s barely one o’clock…” Aaron mumbles as he slips the neatly folded target sheet into his jean pocket but nevertheless follows Brian out the door.

💫

The bar is crowded on a Sunday night as one might expect, but what Aaron didn’t prepare for was the sheer length of a single shift. He’s been helping to take out the trash and carry boxes of supplies to and fro the little joint during the day, taking time to rest in the parking lot or chatting with employees, while Brian anchored himself inside for the whole of the afternoon. At nightfall as more people came in for drinks, Aaron stood in as an extra bouncer, with Brian still busy behind the counter. He’d leaned on the doorframe and watched him laugh and joke with old customers and staff members, bottles flying up and down in his hands. It warms him to the core to see his little brother thoroughly having fun. It’s been too long.

Something in him is awakened by the sight. He feels safe, secure. Hopeful. A rush of serotonin makes him believe, even if it’s only for a little while, that everything is going to be okay now that he’s with his family again.

He broke into giggles when he saw Brian stealing a cocktail cherry, then getting caught and a slap on the wrist.

And just like that, the evening passed in a flash.

💫

In the early morning, after most guests have left, Aaron goes back into the bar and settles on a stool. Brian is still working, although at a much slower pace. Aaron sits at afar, basking in a contentedness he hasn’t felt in years.

“Need another Long Island Iced Tea, Mandy,” Brian turns and calls.

“I  _ told _ you, it’s  _ Amanda _ . _ Don’t call me Mandy. _ ” The older woman replies.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll put salt in your ice tray.” She squints,straining the drink into a glass almost threateningly.

“Ohhh, you wouldn’t dare,” Aaron hears his brother say, cocky as usual.

“Wouldn’t I?” Amanda shoots back, slowly pushing the finished mix towards her apprentice. “Now, be a peach for me and kindly fetch this for the guy who ordered it, please?” 

Brian sneers, but takes the drink anyway. 

“Thank you.” Amanda coos. Aaron can tell that Brian’s rolling his eyes even without looking. The woman approaches him as he thinks, knocking cheerfully on the counter, “Now, what would you like, young man?”

“Uh, just a beer, please.” Aaron keeps his voice soft, pulls out a few dollars and pushes them across to her. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The senior bartender looks pleased from his simple gesture. “You are  _ so _ polite,” she praises, shooting the younger brother a death glare.

“Hey! I didn’t bring you here to kiss ass.” Brian’s rude gesture is censored by a washcloth. “Come and help me clean up. Chairs upside-down on the tables. Speed! Let’s go!”

Aaron gets down from the stool and strolls towards the back. He brushes past Brian halfway there and darts at him, pretending to throw a punch. Brian ducks on instinct but immediately taunts back in retaliation. The two stare at each other like roosters in a fighting ring.

“Alright, that’s it!” The lady barkeep shouts at them, “beer’s confiscated!”

Aaron blows a puff and continues on his way. He takes a second to glare back, only to see a shit-eating smirk sticking out its tongue.

_ Just you fucking wait.  _ Aaron steams as he picks up a chair,  _ I’m gonna get you back  _ so good— 

💫

Street lamp’s yellow light illuminates two shadows sitting on the curb, a bottle of beer in each one’s hand.

“Nice work at the range today,” Aaron prompts, “but honestly, what are you gonna use that kind of aim for?”

Brian hums in the middle of a swig. “Well, I have some ‘extracurricular interests’, if you know what I’m talking about.” Brian suggests with a wink and a click of his tongue. Seeing his brother’s concerned expression, he laughs and explains, “Clint has this girl, his student—he kind of trained her to be another superhero—he spends most of the time here in LA and, well, I help her with stuff around.” He glances at Aaron’s face, knowing that he’d just sent his brother on a rollercoaster ride and smiles.

Aaron replies with a sarcastic laugh. “Alright. Tell me more.”

Brian taps the bottle’s neck impatiently, squinting his sore eyes. “I’ll tell you when we get home. Come on,” he offers, drawing the last sip from the bottle and throwing it into the trash, then turns around and pulls his brother up.

“Yep,” the older man breathes, catching the younger’s hand, “should get on back  _ home _ .”

💫

“Jimbo!” Brian hollers as he is pulled into a bear hug. “Happy week off, big man.”

They’re looking at each other like  _ highschool sweethearts _ . Aaron is disgusted and melting with sweet nostalgia at the same time.

“I thought we would fill him in, help him with a travelling plan and whatnot.” Brian pats Jim’s shoulder and Jim kisses his hair.

“Yep, definitely,” the taller man agrees, “and all about Clint and Natasha-”

“-and Will and Ethan.”

“Wait wait wait, wai- hold on a second,” the ex-CIA agent nearly chokes. “They’re together?” Aaron is rendered speechless for a short moment, opening his mouth with zero words coming out. He must look like a fool.

“I th-I thought he just adopted another sibling or something—” he finally manages, “God! He even worries like he worries about us!”

Brian makes an incoherent sound of astonishment. “Of-fucking-course he worries about him,” he huffs, “Aaron, they’re  _ dating _ !”

“Don’t you think he worries too much—”

Brian snickers wryly. “Will’s still... _ him _ , man, he worries about everybody and anybody who’s ever close to him. He hasn’t changed a lot, you gotta know that.”

“Yeah but if Hunt’s always on those kinds of missions—”

“Fucking God, Aaron, stop worrying so much about other people’s relationships!” Brian forcefully combs through his hair, teetering on the verge of a meltdown from frustration, “they’re doing  _ fine _ !”

“Yeah well you guys are not oth—”

“Worry about your-fucking-self, Aaron, for  _ once _ !” Brian grabs him by the shirt collar and yells. It takes all the self-restraint Aaron has for him to not punch him in the face for the disrespect. 

“Worry about your own relationship—or something.” Brian deflates once he sees his brother’s darkened face. “Just relax, okay?” He half pleads, finally acting like a family member again, “I’m not telling you not to worry because you’re 110% going to—any one of us will.” 

He laughs, and then sighs, remembering the guarded looks his brothers gave each other’s new partners upon introduction. Overprotective sons of bitches, himself included. “Just know that we’re all happy and well and living the best we… currently can, and that we want to help you do the same, alright?” 

His brother purses his lips, cheeks round much like a chipmunk. Brian warns himself not to ruin the moment of trumping his older sibling by pinching him like an overenthusiastic mother.

“C’mere,” he says instead, pulling themselves into a firm hug.

Aaron smoothes his hand up and down Brian’s back, taking in the message. Brian’s never been more proud of himself in his life.

Finally, Aaron opens up to speak. “If you fucking yell at me again you’re gonna get a slap to that pretty face, you hear?”

Brian grins low and challenging.

“We’ll see about that.”

“Now, what’s the business about Clint and the Black Widow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclamer: I didn't do much research regarding intellectual disability, so it can be inaccurate. Feel free to give me advice and educate me for future matters.  
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated :)


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